


Cigarettes

by dawnstruck



Category: Death Note
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:25:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/pseuds/dawnstruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They sucked Mello in like Matt did with his cigarettes, quickly and greedily, knowing that they could always get an easy replacement, and most of the time it was painful to watch."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cigarettes

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Seether's "Cigarettes".

Matt ran a tongue over his lips to taste smoke, desperation and fear. Hoping to get rid of the last two, he put the cigarette to his mouth and breathed in deeply.  
He had been waiting for twenty minutes now or rather smoked four cigarettes, because that was the usual measurement he used to keep track of time. Nicotine was the only thing that allowed him to feel something like resigned patience. He couldn’t let time pass more quickly and so he just had to sit there and wait like any other mortal being.

He was sitting on the small wall that surrounded one half of the playground, legs spread, shoulders hunched forward, elbows propped up on his knees, a fag hanging from his lips like a flag of surrender.  
The sun burned down on him like a relentless fire god and he regretted having put on his typical outfit. Long-sleeved cotton shirt and boots really weren’t the best choice for hot summer days.  
But he was probably still better off than that idiot Mello who wandered around in tight, black leather, no matter the weather conditions. It suited him just like the cold look in his eyes and the dark aura about him. It was attractive and appealing, but there was still something unsettling about it, even if it was only the knowledge that the one who bore it had to be uncomfortable in many different ways.

It was the Mafia’s doing, Matt supposed, at least to a certain extent. Mello’s unyielding plan to be accepted and respected in that world of steel gazes and iron fists. His demeanor fit into it like a firmly placed bullet between eyes that knew too much. But his outward appearance was totally off.   
He looked frail, fragile, and so easy to break. And so he hid it behind blazing barrels and sharp snarls. But that was only one part of Mello. Pronouncing one half made the other fade into a blurry memory of who he once was.   
The Mafia did that. They still treated Mello like shit, even after all he had done to prove his worth. Eventually he would get what he wanted, but until then he would have to stay persistent and demanding, with his head held high so they would not continue to look down on him.  
They sucked Mello in like Matt did with his cigarettes, quickly and greedily, knowing that they could always get an easy replacement, and most of the time it was painful to watch.

That was one thing. The other problem was that Mello was becoming just like them. Ruthless, devilish, blood-thirsty.   
It was that unpleasant mixture of whiskey breath and sweat and too strong after-shave. That combination that spoke of dirty work, dark intentions and cheap methods. It smelled of trouble. The stench made Matt want to retch.  
It bothered Matt, but not enough to actually chase him away. He knew when he had a job to do. And Mello sure as hell needed his help.

It was in that moment that the blond strode around the corner, like a king returning from war, proud and victorious. Much too sure of himself. That look suited him as well. But it never lasted long.  
After only a few steps he carefully glanced over his shoulder and, upon seeing that no one was openly following him, he shrunk together like a guilty child that tried to hide by making himself look smaller. All fame and splendor was gone and seconds later a scrawny, gaunt kid shuffled over the playground, sand crunching beneath the soles of his polished shoes.  
Matt followed him with his gaze, not bothering to call out to the older boy. Mello would notice him soon enough.

And really, just when the older boy had nearly passed by, he lifted his head as if he had suddenly felt the attentive eyes piercing into him. Again he glanced over his shoulder, probably thinking that he was really being followed, but then his glare found Matt and relief poured over his features. Matt had seen him in worse conditions, so slouching off in front of him was not nearly as bad as being caught of guard by any of the other mobsters who would easily use that vulnerabilty and make fun of him. But Matt would not.  
With tired steps Mello crossed the ten meters that were left between them and then sank down on the wall next to him, crossing his arms and legs so it forced him to sit up straighter and thus regain some of his majestic posture.  
For a few minutes they just sat there, slowly melting underneath the sun, sweat beading on their foreheads, the hot air flickering like a nervous mirage.

“You followed me,” Mello stated the obvious.  
Matt only shrugged, “I always follow you.” It was the truth.  
There was that certain kind of silence hovering over them, the lazy silence of such an afternoon in July, blaring horns and howling cars in the distance, sizzling heat upon stone, a few eager birds chirping somewhere in the meager trees at the side of playground. No human voices.   
Everyone who was more or less sane had escaped into a cool refugee, something with air conditioning and ice cream and cold showers. That was why there were no children on the playground. The swings still kept moving slightly, even thought Matt could feel not the barest hint of wind in the air. Maybe the heat was already getting to him and he was imagining things.  
But he could not decide whether the silence bothered him or not. There was only ever black and white with Mello, but never grey. Either thick silence or blaring noise – nothing in between. No subtle sounds interwoven with a melody of calm. Mello was not that sensitive. And Matt was not delicate or soft enough to hope for anything like that.

From the corner of his eyes he noted how the blond ran the tip of his tongue over a row of perfect teeth, either deep in thought or longing for something. It was probably a bit of both, because Mello was always deep in thought and thus always longing for chocolate.   
He needed sugar and cocoa to calm down. He needed something to bite and sink his teeth into without having to taste bitter blood.  
And then Mello did something that he rarely ever did: he snatched the cigarette from Matt’s fingers and lifted it to his own lips, taking a long drag.  
He had probably run out of chocolate and looked for some sort of substitute, because there was nothing akin to bliss on his face but anger and annoyance of a once strong-willed man who had once again given in to his addiction.  
Mello exhaled the smoke through fiercely gritted teeth and it made him look like some sort of lindworm who breathed fire and spat ashes.  
Matt was strangely used to the sight. Mello didn’t need cigarettes to look dangerous.

“I hate it,” Mello decided without offering a further explanation, but Matt still grunted in response. He hated it, too.  
They probably looked just like all those other teenagers that hung around deserted playgrounds. Smoking, moping and hating the world. Dark looks and scowls on their faces, meeting up with their so called friends but not exchanging a single word. Scaring away little children and demolishing the seesaw and the swings. Believing that they were cool and superior while they knew shit about real life. The trash of society, the trash that was supposed to be the future of mankind.

Mello and Matt were nothing like that. They had seen too many things to still fool themselves into believing that their existence really mattered. Sure, their involvement with certain serial killers did matter, but themselves did not. Their names and faces would not be remembered. They had no names, no faces, only aliases and masks. It was sobering to know that, strangely exhausting and defeating. Matt wondered where they always took their engergy from.  
They were barely of age, but not children anymore, not on the inside, never really had been, and hanging around the playground was neither an attempt to feel all high and mighty nor was it the expression of a deeply felt wish to return to better times when they had been younger and still relatively innocent. It was just a convenience that they had ended up here in LA, an accident that they had gotten into this mess at all.  
That ridiculous stuff other kids their age found cool – fast cars and flashy bikes, guns, technology, money, alcohol, drugs – Matt and Mello had it all and they didn’t even really want any of it. Mello practically ran the Mafia. That was hot shit. That was burning buildings and bullet hail like others only ever got to see in glorifying Hollywood productions.

But there was no glory in what they did, only disappointment and too much blood.  
And so they had every right to hang around deserted playgrounds; smoking, moping and hating the world.  
Ten minutes and two more or less shared cigarettes later Mello tilted his head to the side to make his joints crack with a violent sound, then he stretched lazily and stood up from the wall, signaling that he wanted to leave now.  
“Are you here with the car?” he asked, dusting the dirt and sand from his pants.  
“Sure,” Matt answered as he stubbed out his cigarette, already litting a new one. Damn, he was turning into a chain smoker, but that did not really bother him. Yes, he would die young, but not of lung cancer. That was for sure.  
“I’ve got my bike parked around the corner,” Mello informed him curtly and already turned into that direction.

Because it was always like that, right? Short moments of companioable peace until they separated again, each taking a different path to reach the same destination.  
Matt had the creeping suspicious that they would end just like that: Mello with his bike, Matt with his car, but both undeniably alone. And their destination would be death. Because somehow they had gotten lost along the way.  
That realization was not as shocking as it should have been; Matt was quite accostumed to thoughts concerning death and loss and misery.   
Mello was a pure icon of all things terrifying and so it didn’t scare Matt anymore. On the contrary, he found it rather enticing. He couldn’t help but be drawn towards the source of danger and pain and excitement. He felt thrilled. He felt alive. And that was more than most people ever got to experience.  
“Mello,” he called out and the blond actually stopped dead in his tracks, something that was quite unusual. Under normal circumstances Mello never stopped for anyone. But there were no normal circumstances, not anymore.

Calmly Matt stood up and walked up to him, nothing urgent or forceful about him, nothing demanding or threatening.  
“Stay safe,” he only told Mello and there was a question in those arctic-blue eyes, a question Matt was willing to answer.  
Hooking his fingers over the broad leather belt that was slung around slim hips, he pulled the older boy closer so their faces were mere inches apart. Mello seemed neither surprised nor angered nor did he make a move to stop Matt, so maybe he had anticipated it after all.  
And so, without wasting any more thoughts on it, Matt leaned closer and pressed his chapped lips to a mouth he only ever saw smirking in mockery or scowling in fury.

Mello’s wrath was deadly, but his kiss was less extreme, almost plain even and thus all the more enjoable because Matt could easily drown in it and forget all worries.  
It was short and calm, not sweet, but not exactly bitter either. Just a kiss that still managed capture them in its sensation.  
Then they separated, and once it was over all unpleasant thoughts came rushing back at him and Matt had to resist the urge to just smash their lips back together and stay like that until time died and danger was forgotten. But he did resist the urge and that made all the difference.

“See you later,” he reminded Mello who only nodded in silent agreement.  
They would see each other later. At least today. And tomorrow. Maybe even next month, next year. But soon, all too soon, it would be over.  
Matt watched as Mello turned around and vanished around the corner.  
He ran his tongue over his lips to taste smoke, desperation and fear. Hoping to get rid of the last two, he put the cigarette to his mouth and breathed in deeply.


End file.
